Work Text:
Mel finds Ellis on autopilot.
As soon as the elevator doors spit her back out her feet are dragging against the ground and navigating her around the heart of the Pitt. She can hear the rustle and roar of various nurses and doctors, clipboards clattering and papers rustling, can practically smell the sweat mixed with antiseptic as a result of everyone so clumped together.
Ellis is lying on a free bed in the South hallway, curtains shuttering her off from the chaos. Mel fidgets momentarily, material of the curtain brushing against her skin. She winces. Shuffles to the side a bit, head tilted in a silent question. Ellis has headphones jammed into her ears, a silky mask pressed to the bridge of her nose, palms clasped gently atop her stomach. Her breaths are even but not slow. She isn't asleep. Mel can't find the right words to say to announce her presence.
“Wanna take a picture, sunshine?” Ellis’s voice resonates through the small space, deep like it’s being pulled from the bottom of her chest. Mel startles and bumps back into the scratchy material of the curtain. She hurriedly crosses her arms below her chest loosely, fingertips pressing into the divots of her ribcage.
“I wasn’t—” she starts. Her teeth clack together awkwardly in her mouth; she can feel the adrenaline seeping out of her slowly like poison being extracted from a wound. Apparently sensing Mel’s hesitation, Ellis swings her legs over the bed to face her and lifts the mask from her eyes in one swift movement. Just like that, her attention is back on Mel—focused, alert. It makes Mel squirm in a way she can’t say is all bad. “How did you know it was me?”
She’s beating around the bush and she knows it—they can’t talk about the deposition, not really, but Ellis found a work around. Mel just wants someone to share some relief with, even if it’s clouded in ambiguity. She knows Parker knows it too, just like she did out in the hallway; there’s a shift in her expression, something softer glazing across her eyes.
“Anyone else would’ve told me to leave to have the room,” Parker explains. She pauses, gaze dragging over Mel’s frame as if searching for something. “And you walk light as a feather. Energy in the room’s different, somehow.”
Mel hums. She taps the heel of her palm against the jut of her belly as she does, letting the vibration travel and reverb against the rungs of her ribs. She catches Parker watching the movement as her own eyes flicker across the room. She knows she wants to say something but can’t tug the right words out of the frantic buzz of her own mind; she feels too raw, too open, like a gaping wound.
Parker seems to notice. “How did it go?”
Panic flares beneath Mel’s skin momentarily. A phantom of the entire day’s anxiety and the knowledge that she really shouldn’t be talking about it, but. Well.
“Like you expected,” she finally decides on. Simple enough. Mel knows she never would have tugged the words out on her own without Parker’s gentle proddingr; Mel’s own words of quiet refusal of looking the event in the eyes earlier when Parker pulled her out into the secluded hallway to lay the facts out for her repeated back to her. It feels like solace and her admittance leaves her feeling boneless. She takes a deep breath and nearly expects to deflate up into the air like a balloon. “I was expecting to feel more relieved.”
She feels her mouth twist around the empty air as the words leave her. She hadn’t planned on saying that. For a fearful second, she worries that Parker will think Mel can’t handle the job—that she can’t handle herself.
Parker’s expression doesn’t falter. Dark brown eyes remain trained on Mel. “That’s okay,” she offers. As if it’s that simple. “It’s an exhausting thing.” Mel makes a soft noise from the back of her throat without meaning to, halfway between a hum and a word she hasn’t fully formed. Parker seems to notice it because she’s barreling on, “What are you doing after work later?”
Mel’s gaze jolts back to the woman. The change in subject is abrupt but Mel recognizes it for what it is; a reprieve.
“Watching the fireworks with Becca,” she offers. She can't help the small smile that forms at the mention of her sister. She’s barely had the opportunity to think about the routine trip apart from their conversation over the phone a few hours ago, but the ease spills through her immediately. “We always go to the park and watch them. We used to go with our parents so now it’s just an every year kind of thing.”
Parker nods firmly, brow set in a way Mel has seen before when the woman has already made her mind up about something but hasn't found a way to voice it yet. Normally, it’s accompanied by careful orders thrown either her way or another colleague’s way. Or when she's pulling Mel out into a secluded hallway to try and quell her anxieties.
“Care for one more?” Parker asks. Her face is open, voice steady and careful. “No pressure. Shen owes me so I persuaded him into covering for me—just letting you know it’d be nice to blow off some steam after, y’know.”
Mel blinks. It’s never been accompanied by this. Her hands loosen from where they wrap around her ribcage and press against her belly, left palm twisting against her right as she rolls the question around in her mind. She's never hung out with Parker outside of work before—Becca has never met her, and while her sister’s not privy to changing up a routine, she's more of a social butterfly than Mel ever could be. She thinks absently of Becca’s prodding into her work life; whether she's made any new friends, what the grossest thing she saw that day had been, whether she's found anyone to kiss.
Mel glances back up at Parker and flushes. The fluorescent lights above them flicker and hum, searing down in a way that emphasizes the tightness of her skin. She feels a weariness down to her bones underneath them, pinned beneath Parker’s accepting gaze. Flayed open, she thinks. Like Parker can see right through her.
“I’d like that,” she admits. The words leave her throat in a cluster. A smile spills onto Parker’s mouth and Mel exhales for what feels like the first time that day.
The fireworks start sometime after nine, and Parker is nestling down onto Mel and Becca’s picnic blanket a little after quarter past ten.
Mel had gotten the text that Parker was on her way a while ago, but seeing her shuffling towards them with a cooler in hand has her stomach dipping almost painfully. The headphones perched on her ears deaden any sudden noises around her, so she’s grateful that Parker approaches them from just off the parking area so she sees her almost immediately.
She tilts one of them off of her ear now, moving to sit up on her knees as she does so. Parker beams at her and wiggles the cooler around in her hand. The woman has discarded the scrubs she’d been wearing and dons a high neck tank top instead, loose fitted cargo shorts hugging her hips.
Mel turns away to face Becca, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. Becca’s already looking at her, headphones rumpling the hair around the crown of her head. Her gaze flickers back and forth between Mel and Parker curiously.
“Is that Parker?” she inquires. Her voice is loud even over the scattered burst of fireworks.
Mel feels her face burn. “Yes.”
“Parker!” Becca shouts. She spreads her palm wide and waves the woman over. Parker sidles up in front of them, toes of her shoes brushing against the fabric of the picnic blanket. “I’m Becca!”
Parker hones in on Becca immediately, nestling the cooler down on the patch of grass in front of where they lay. She takes her free hand and offers it to Becca, who opts to wave in return. Parker goes along with it easily, smile fuzzy around the edges.
“Looks like I’ve already been introduced,” she observes. Her eyes flicker over to Mel, expression open and entirely amused. Mel averts her gaze quickly, fingers twirling around a blade of grass next to her knee. She gave Becca a quick run-down on the change in their plans, worried that Becca would be upset with her for inviting someone along to their yearly routine, but Becca had beamed instead. She had offered Mel nothing more than an inquisitive “Parker?” and then a simple “I’m excited she wants to hang out with us”, which left Mel pleasantly surprised. “It’s good to finally meet you, Becca. I’ve heard great things.”
Becca smiles at her and opens her mouth around her next words until a crack of fireworks bursts against the sky again, whatever it was going to be getting tangled up in a noncommittal noise. Parker’s attention swivels back to Mel. Mel suddenly becomes very aware that she’s still perched halfway on her knees on the edge of the blanket.
“I’m glad you came,” she says. She tries not to wince against the sound of the fireworks bursting against the sky but fails. She tugs the stray headphone back over her ear with an apologetic look thrown Parker’s way, deflating back into a sitting position on her calves. “You can um, you can sit down. If you want.”
“My pleasure, sunshine,” Parker gestures to the cooler before she nestles atop the blanket right next to Mel. “I didn’t know what either of you liked, so I grabbed a little of everything.”
Mel furrows her brows before reaching for the cooler. When she unzips it, an assortment of alcohol spills forward—tiny little clear bottles, red bottles, a few sweating cans of beer she’s seen around in stores but has never tried. Underneath it all are scattered cans of soda and a few crushed candy bars and what looks to be chips. Mel looks over at Parker, who looks sheepish for maybe the first time since Mel’s known her.
“Just in case,” Parker explains. “I wanted to be safe, I guess.”
Mel smiles. At the mention of safe, she leans back a bit. “Did you drive here?”
Parker’s answer is immediate. “I did,” She shrugs a shoulder upwards casually. “If you decide you wanna partake, it’s off the table for me. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”
Mel hums happily. Parker makes everything sound so…simple. Mel envies it and admires it in both aspects.
“It’s wonderful,” she says. She digs out a can of soda and hands it to Becca, who takes it gratefully. Mel hesitates—she’s not a very big drinker. She doesn’t even particularly like the taste of alcohol unless it’s heavily masked until it barely can even be considered alcohol, but the idea of indulging in one proves to be tempting.
She grabs the least incriminating looking one; a small, tapered bottle that looks more like fruit punch than anything else. She unscrews the cap carefully and sniffs it. It isn’t immediately abhorrent, which she counts as a win. She chances a glance at Parker and finds the other woman watching her, head tilted slightly. Not expectant, Mel supposes; just watching her curiously.
Mel inhales deeply. She takes a tentative sip and the bitterness doesn’t hit her until after she’s pulled the bottle away from her mouth. It leaves a film against the roof of her mouth and her lips sticky and she makes a slight face as she licks it away, still getting accustomed to the taste.
“It doesn’t taste like I expected it to,” she observes. Parker’s still staring at her, a glaze over her expression that Mel can’t quite place. Mel debates for a split second before downing the rest of the bottle, declaring it decent enough to indulge in one.
“Gross,” Becca’s saying. Mel settles back more comfortably onto the picnic blanket, eyeing the spot next to her and then back to Parker pointedly. Parker seems to understand because she's huffing out a soft laugh and scooting closer, the bone of her knee nearly brushing against Mel’s thigh from where she's sitting criss-crossed.
A pleased noise slips from behind Mel’s teeth without her thinking. After an entire day of her skin feeling pulled taut, that overwhelming buzz of anxiety and the inherent fog that’s been nestled in her mind, it’s nice to have things that keep her present; the weight of her headphones pressed against her ears, the slight shuffle of Becca at her elbow as she stares up at the sky in anticipation of the next burst of fireworks. The twirl of the tiny glass of alcohol between her fingertips as she sips at it slowly, letting the burn settle right between her lungs. Parker, warm and steady and so close, the smell of citrus and vanilla and something sharper like sandalwood entwining with sweat drifting in the sparse space between them in a way that makes Mel slightly dizzy.
Mel downs the rest of the tiny drink. She rolls the cooling glass against her palm, debating for a split second before reaching for another—she's spent so much of the day worried about her next step that it feels abnormal to act on something she wants as soon as she knows she wants it.
Parker allows her to twist open the top before she's breaking the comfortable silence, voice a low rumble from the sliver that Mel can hear. “Why the headphones?”
Her tone is inquisitive, open. Mel pauses as she thinks—there are no restraints to Parker's question, no hidden meanings. She's only curious and nothing more. Mel still feels her face heat at the attention and the blatant interest in something Mel has been so easily shamed for before.
“It’s a little loud,” she supplies lamely. Parker's smiling, teeth glinting underneath the moonlight. The fireworks haven't started in full capacity just yet, but Mel can see the whispers of blues and pinks flickering against the woman’s skin from the previous round fizzling out.
“I thought so,”
Mel opens her mouth around words she hasn't quite grasped yet but whatever it is dies on her tongue as Becca’s fingers twist in the material of her shirt, her sister’s free hand gesturing out at the expanse of sky in front of them. The fireworks start off as nothing more than pinpricks—a small silver slit opening up the night sky above them. Then, as if it had been holding its breath in anticipation, bursts of purple, pink, and gold splatter across the stars. Becca’s squeal of delight is muted and Mel smiles; here, she allows a sliver of relief to nestle into her chest.
By the time the fireworks veer into the more extravagant designs, Mel is pleasantly tipsy. The little bottles of alcohol are all that she’s rifled through but she knows they’re far more dangerous than anything else—higher concentration per ounce, and since they don’t taste like it, Mel’s taken to sipping at them almost absentmindedly. The tightness of her skin has been replaced by a pleasant warmth, the line of her spine more relaxed as she nestles her knees to her chest. She turns to face Parker, cheek smushed against the bone of her knee.
“I’m glad you came,” she says again. She feels the words slide off of her tongue like water. Parker, who had been aptly watching the fireworks above them with interest, turns to face her immediately. The satisfied expression she’d been wearing morphs into something more amused as her dark eyes rove over Mel next to her. Mel’s brows furrow; she’s always so attentive. It makes her squirm.
“I wanted to,” Parker answers. Then, after a brief pause where Mel fills the silence with pleased hums, “Baby, are you drunk?”
Mel’s stomach swoops low. “I might be a bit tipsy,” she admits, pointer finger and thumb pinching together. She hums again, tastes the noise as it vibrates against the backs of her teeth. “I like your nicknames for me. They’re nice.”
Parker barks out a laugh, deep and rich from the depths of her chest. Mel watches the skitter of fireworks against her face, the way Parker’s skin warps beneath the multi-colored flashes. There’s sweat pooling in the hollow of her collarbones that reflect a sweet shade of pink. Mel eyes it, mouth suddenly dry.
“Good,” Parker assents. Mel licks at the bitterness coating her lips. She sees the flash of Parker’s eyes tracking the movement.
“Mel,” Becca’s saying. Mel’s swinging around to look at her sister, who's cradling the can of soda closely to her chest. “Can we take pictures now?”
Mel smiles. “Yeah, we can do that,” She stands on slightly shaky legs and waits for Becca to scramble up after her. Mel looks to Parker, who's already propping herself up on her knees. “Tradition,” Mel explains, smiling softly. She furrows her brow. “Do you wanna—take one with us?”
Parker’s digging her phone out of her pocket before Mel has the chance to pull her own out. “I’d love to,” Parker says, lifting it up so Mel and Becca are both in the camera’s eye. “Do what you gotta do first, I can wait.”
Warmth envelopes Mel’s chest as she nods. She sidles up next to her sister, lets Becca pull whatever silly poses and faces she wants as she follows suit, feeling lighter than she has all day. When Parker eventually makes her way over, Mel looks at the three of them in the little camera as she snaps the photos; Becca’s radiant, smiling ear to ear, Mel’s own face flushed from the heat and the alcohol, the apples of her cheeks pink and eyes slightly glassy. Parker presses her free palm to the small of Mel’s back and grins into the pictures. Mel has to steady herself as Parker pulls away.
Parker drives them back to Mel’s apartment a little after midnight, when the crowd starts dwindling down and the fireworks lessen considerably. Mel takes off her headphones in the backseat with Becca and listens to her sister recount her day and her group’s activities, free from the loudness of the evening with just enough energy remaining. Parker chimes in here and there from the driver’s seat, knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel as she listens intently to Becca’s stories.
When they finally scramble from the car, Mel a little less cohesively than the others, Becca hesitates in the awning of the door, eyeing Parker curiously. “I like you,” she says. Mel watches the twist of mischief in her sister’s gaze as Becca’s attention whirls to her for a split second. “My sister does too. You should come over more often.”
Parker’s face breaks open, genuine and bright. Mel feels dizzy just looking at her. “How can I decline such an invitation?”
Becca leaves her with a smile before trudging off to her room, shedding her headphones along the way. When she rounds the corner, a blanket of silence coats the living room, Parker halfway out the door and halfway inside. Mel wracks the sludge of her brain for something to say, anything to keep her lingering for longer; comes up empty.
“You handled yourself pretty well today,” Parker finally says. Mel blinks up at her, surprised. It’s the first mention of the day’s events since Mel had found her in the Pitt directly afterwards. Mel lets the praise simmer in her stomach, tamps down the edges of a pleased smile. Now that the threat of the deposition doesn't hang over her any longer, she can recall the surety of Parker’s hallway monologue. The way her palm squeezed Mel’s skin with a firm pressure, not letting Mel spiral away too far. “I knew you would.”
Mel decides to take what Parker's saying for what it is. Over the last few months of working with the woman, getting to know her and sharing small tidbits of what Mel deemed she was maybe allowed to share about how she felt about the lawsuit, Mel knows Parker says what she feels and she always means it. She doesn’t mince her words but she’s never cruel, either. It’s reassuring knowing it; terrifying knowing that no matter how much she wants to, Mel can't truly hide from her.
“Really?” Mel asks. Then, immediately feeling foolish, she shakes her head and opts to veer the subject slightly. “Lawyers really shouldn't be so terrifying.”
Parker huffs out a slight laugh. She’s edged further into Mel’s apartment, front door slightly cracked instead of halfway open. Mel’s heart beats a staccato rhythm inside of her chest.
“Yeah, that’s kind of their deal,” she says. “They just wanna see if they can shake you. You know what you're doing.”
Mel twists her fingers together over her stomach. She feels like an inferno is eating away at her, flames licking away in her ribcage. She’s stumbling forward until she’s close enough to Parker to smell citrus and vanilla again.
“Can I—” Mel starts. Pauses, edge of her nail cutting into a crease of a pointer finger’s knuckle. “Parker, can I kiss you?”
There's a sharp inhale; Mel isn't sure who it’s from, head swimming from the alcohol and the anxiety and the want. Parker lifts a palm to cup Mel’s face, thumb resting in the dip of her chin, fingers splaying against the bone of her jaw and down her throat as she pulls Mel away gently. For a split second, fear spikes down Mel’s spine—had she misread?—but Parker’s eyes are soft beneath the muted light of Mel’s living room, albeit a little hooded.
“I want to,” Parker reassures her. Mel feels her mouth pull down into what she won’t call a pout. “Later, sweetheart. When you’re not drunk anymore, alright?”
Mel lets her hands lift to Parker’s chest, fingertips fiddling with a loose thread in the woman’s tank top. “Tomorrow?”
Mel watches her spit-slick mouth split in joy again, easy as ever. “Anything you want, honeybee.”
Mel dips her head in a nod. She can feel the remnants of the alcohol seeping out of her system, replaced instead by that leaden feeling that had followed her directly after her deposition. No longer was she plagued by the adrenaline or the anxiety—just that bone-deep exhaustion and the fight to keep herself rooted in her own mind.
Parker seems to soften underneath her palms. “Get some rest, baby.” Her arms shift until Mel’s held at wrist’s length once more, Parker’s eyes raking over her face before she apparently finds what she’s looking for and dips downwards to place a feather-soft kiss to the bone of Mel’s cheek. Mel lets her eyes flutter closed with the whisper of it, with the promise that it holds.
When Mel wakes up the next morning, it’s to a glass of water perched on her nightstand along with a bottle of pain killers. As she squints against the dawn spilling into the room, fumbling for her phone, there’s several texts from Parker. It’s a thread of the pictures she took of them last night all in front of the spray of fireworks, a dotted row of firework emojis and hearts accompanying it. Mel feels her heart squeeze painfully as she types out a response.
Mel 5:26 AM
I had a wonderful time :] And judging from the way she hasn’t woken up yet, Becca did too! Thank you for the water and the Tylenol, too
Parker 5:33 AM
Of course. I get off work in a few hours, if you’re still up for picking up where we left off
Parker 5:34 AM
I might have bribed Trinity into telling me your next off day just to be sure
Mel feels something tug at her like anxiety but she knows it’s deeper than that—that all-encompassing warmth that she felt last night that left her wondering if it was rooted entirely in the alcohol she was consuming. Wishful thinking, perhaps, merely a way for her to grasp onto the facts that she knew without the impending overthinking and the inevitable spiral that would have ensued if she got stuck ruminating. But Parker is still as reassuring and as solid as she was yesterday.
Mel inhales deeply, ignoring the flutter of nerves as she types out her response.
Mel 5:36 AM
Sounds like a date, Doctor Ellis?
Parker 5:36 AM
It absolutely is. See you soon, sweets